Trenches
by Audrxyweasley
Summary: I've never really seen a fic where Thomas has PTSD from the war so this is it! It's only a Drabble but it's something I'm considering writing a longer fic about. A few things differ from canon, timeline wise, but nothing major


The Thomas Barrow who returned from the war was not the same as the one who left. He still had the same short black hair, the same raised cheekbones but his eyes were sunken and haggard - a haunted look to them. He was much slimmer, never regaining the weight he had lost living in a diet of rations and he very rarely spoke. On the occasions he did, it was in a very soft, quiet voice.

That's how he liked everything now - soft, quiet and most importantly calm. He did not like the dark, he did not like the shouting of the hall boys and the maids and he certainly did not like the clanging and banging of the kitchen.

Generally speaking, he was still fit to serve as footman. He returned to the work slowly, a mixture of his permanently rattled nerves and injured hand making him a slower worker than previously, but he was still certain to make sure the job got done and for better or worse, the war had taken his previous feistiness and disobedience away entirely. But it had also taken his charm, his devilish smirks and any of the qualities that had made Thomas so endearing - even when you do close to socking him one.

Whilst his hand had been slowly healing, he hadn't been permitted to serve the family, instead given a collection of chores that mainly involved polishing - whether it be silver or shoes or even helping the maids with door knobs and fire places. But with Matthew back from the war, Thomas knew his time until he returned to his full duties as a footman was ticking.

And so, it was with great nervousness that he picked up a tray and began to carry it to the dining room. He could barely stop his hands from shaking, a normal feature of his life since he had left the trenches. His every waking moment consisted of him waiting for the Germans to storm the abbey, guns shooting through the walls and gasses flooding in through the doors.

Even in his sleep he couldn't escape. He had been moved from his old room to one at the far end of the corridor, away from most the others, for he awoke every night screaming bloody murder, often sobbing into Mrs Hughes arms, who was always the first to comfort him. The hall boys generally stared through the door in some abject horror and Mr Carson was normally next to them a mixture of concern and disdain on his face.

He pushed open the door and began serving as he had done so many times previously. He was weaker, with no appetite to speak of keeping him just as frail as he had been in the trenches, but he could still hold a tray and that was what mattered.

He was arguably in a much better state than Matthew, who was sat at the table in his wheelchair. He survived the war and he survived in one piece: he should be grateful for that much.

But the clinking of glasses and forks and trays and plates were beginning to sound more and more like the explosions from the trenches and Thomas couldn't help himself but to be sucked back into the darkness of them, with bombs going off around him and bullets flying above his head and he could see everyone that he had had a vague comradeship with dying over and over once more and he wanted to escape but he couldn't and the explosions were sounding closer and closer until -

"-what the DEVIL is wrong with you!?" Carson shouted. The tray was on the floor, food scattered about from where he'd clearly dropped it but in that moment he couldn't think logically enough to even begin to apologise.

"The Germans, the Germans they're coming!" Thomas sobbed, shaking and scared as he tried to figure out what was going on. He had just been in the trenches a second ago, how was he at the Abbey? He felt sick and he wanted to go home and he wanted his Mam but he couldn't, all he could do was try and see through the confusion and figure out where he was.

Robert stood making his way over to Thomas, who looked so much younger and exposed than Robert had ever seen previously. "You're not in the trenches anymore, Thomas." He said, placing an arm on either shoulder and trying to soothe him.

"What?" Thomas sniffled, his heart beginning to slow as he began to observe the chaos around him. Mary and Edith looked shocked, whereas as Matthew just looked more sad, almost.

Robert held onto him as he walked him over to Carson. "Send him to bed, Carson. Make sure he's alright." Robert said quietly, waiting until Thomas had left to sit back down.

"What on earth was that?" Lady Mary asked once he had left, "he just started screaming like a banshee," replaying the image of Thomas thrashing against her Father as he screamed about the Germans over in her mind.

Matthew answered with a muted tone, "shell shock. Some people who go to war never really come back in the end. They're stuck there in their mind."

"How awful, the things he must have seen…" Edith replied , glancing across to the other footman.

"He screams all night, m'lady," the footman began, taking Lady Edith's prompt. He was only a temporary anyway, normally a hall boy so he was glad to take the chance to converse with a lady. "Mrs Hughes sometimes spends all night in his room, trying to soothe him."

"Surely he can't be fit for -" Cora began.

"I shan't hear of this." Robert immediately cut her off. "He served valiantly and as many faults as Thomas may have, it doesn't seem right to sling him out on his ear with nothing. If it comes down to it we'll keep him as a hall boy or find alternative means of employment." Robert signed and began cutting into his food once more. "His employment is safe as long as I am here," he cast his eyes to Matthew and they both exchanged a knowing look.


End file.
